ers,
but no doubt we shall soon manage to quench the last spark of knightly
reverence left in us for the female sex, as this is evidently the point
the women desire to bring us to. We shall meet them on that low
platform of the "equality" they seek for, and we shall treat them with
the unhesitating and regardless familiarity they so earnestly invite!

Absorbed in thought, I knew not when the service ended. A hand touched
me, and looking up I saw Mere Marguerite, who whispered:

"Follow me, if you please."

I rose and obeyed her mechanically. Outside the chapel door she said:

"Pray excuse me for hurrying you, but strangers are not permitted to
see the nuns and boarders passing out."

I bowed, and walked on beside her. Feeling forced to say something, I
asked:

"Have you many boarders at this holiday season?"

"Only fourteen," she replied, "and they are children whose parents live
far away. Poor little ones!" and the set lines of the nun's stern face
softened into tenderness as she spoke. "We do our best to make them
happy, but naturally they feel lonely. We have generally fifty or sixty
young girls here, besides the day scholars."

"A great responsibility," I remarked.

"Very great indeed!" and she sighed; "almost terrible. So much of a
woman's after life depends on the early training she receives. We do
all we can, and yet in some cases our utmost efforts are in vain; evil
creeps in, we know not how--some unsuspected fault spoils a character
that we judged to be admirable, and we are often disappointed in our
most promising pupils. Alas! there is nothing entirely without blemish
in this world."

Thus talking, she showed me into a small, comfortable-looking room,
lined with books and softly carpeted.

"This is one of our libraries," she explained. "The countess will
receive you here, as other visitors might disturb you in the
drawing-room. Pardon me," and her steady gaze had something of
compassion in it, "but you do not look well. Can I send you some wine?"

I declined this offer with many expressions of gratitude, and assured
her I was perfectly well. She hesitated, and at last said, anxiously:

"I trust you were not offended at my remark concerning Nina Romani's
marriage with you? I fear I was too hasty?"

"Not so, madame," I answered, with all the earnestness I felt. "Nothing
is more pleasant to me than a frank opinion frankly spoken. I have been
so accustomed to deception--" Here I broke off and ad